


From Different Perspectives

by snuckybarnes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate take on vampire lore, M/M, Pining, book fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes
Summary: Regis sighed, looking down at his hands. "And there is one more thing I ought to tell you. As you already know, I have neither a shadow nor a reflection as a part of vampires' natural camouflage. In addition to that, my appearance is also subjective to all except other vampires. I suspect I look a little bit different for each of you."





	From Different Perspectives

**Author's Note:**

> I had a weird thought along the lines of "hey, what if vampires looked different to different people", [Merulanoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir) said "write it" and here we are! They were also kind enough to Beta this fic for me!

Regis looked around the group. There were mixed expressions on their faces as he finished his explanation, his stories about his youth and his nature.

Dandelion's eyes were open wide, fascination and fear mixed together. Regis held no doubts that he was saving the information away for later, to include in a ballad or two. Perhaps he should have felt honored.

Milva was watching him with slightly furrowed brows as she was taking in what was said, but her expression betrayed neither fear nor judgement. Cahir seemed just as contemplative, and looked as if he had questions but didn't know how to word them.

Most would have said Geralt was expressionless, but Regis was more observant than that. While the witcher's face betrayed little emotion as per usual, there was sympathy in his eyes. Seeing that made the corner of Regis' lips twitch into a hint of a smile.

He sighed, looking down at his hands. "And there is one more thing I ought to tell you. As you already know, I have neither a shadow nor a reflection as a part of vampires' natural camouflage. In addition to that, my appearance is also subjective to all except other vampires. I suspect I look a little bit different for each of you."

"But why?" Dandelion asked.

"As I said. To stay hidden," Regis explained. "If one man was searching for me and saw me in his unique way, how could he enlist the help of others to find me, if I to them wouldn't match the description he gave?"

"So you're telling me," Milva began, "that your hair isn't grey and cropped short, that you don't have a mole right here?" She put a finger to her chin.

Cahir's frown deepened. "I thought your hair was brown."

"You're all pulling a prank on me, aren't you?" Dandelion guessed, looking at each of them in turn. "You've thought this all through just to pull my leg. Your hair is grey, sure, but it's long. And you don't have a mole."

"A bit elaborate for a prank, don't you think?" Milva pointed out.

"But that's what would make it such a good one!" Dandelion sighed and shook his head. "Besides, if your appearance really changed, Regis, wouldn't your teeth be hidden as well?"

"I don't know the full logic behind it," Regis admitted. "I simply know what is and what isn't."

"How do you know what you look like then?" Cahir wondered. "If you can't use a looking glass and can't get anyone to describe you."

"Ah, but you forget," Regis reminded him, smiling. "I may not live among my own kind now, but I used to. And the glamour does not work on other vampires."

"So what do you look like?" Geralt asked, breaking his silence. There was something curious behind his eyes.

Regis shrugged. "It hardly matters, does it? But the glamour can come to fade, if you must know. With time and trust. However, it is something I have little control over."

"So if we become good friends, we'll find out what you look like?" Dandelion asked, disbelieving.

"Something like that."

"And what are we now? Still potential drinks?"

"Dandelion," Geralt interrupted in a sharp voice. "Don't."

The poet looked a bit sheepish. "Sorry. I didn't mean that, Regis."

"It's quite alright. And I understand that you're confused, as I myself don't really know how it works either."

________________

 

Regis was fascinated by the witcher. Had been so from the very start, in fact, and it was the main reason why he had chosen to leave Fen Carn. He had imagined his curiosities would be sated eventually, and that the time would come when he would leave the party and feel content in doing so. Now, those thoughts seemed foolish.

For starters, the whole group had become dear friends to him. Even after learning of what he was, of what he had been in the past, they still liked him. And he very much liked them in return.

His fascination with Geralt hadn't waned or been sated in the slightest. Instead, it seemed to grow with each passing day, Geralt always doing or saying something that made Regis more intrigued. He found himself not wanting to leave even after Geralt had found his Ciri. He could not know if Geralt would still want him around by then, if he would want any of them, but he knew what he hoped for.

To be specific, he hoped for two different things. The first one was indeed that he would still be able to follow Geralt after their quest was complete. It was far from certain, but it wasn't impossible either. Impossible was something he reserved for the second thing.

Regis hadn't understood it at first, but for quite some time now he had been yearning. He felt warm whenever Geralt smiled his way; if they happened to brush against each other in the camp he tensed. He would find himself staring at Geralt's face, shoulders, hands—wanting to touch and be touched. He wanted Geralt to be happy, no matter the cost.

This feeling, this yearning, had let itself be transformed into the second hope; Hope that one day, Geralt would feel the same. And no matter how hard he tried, Regis couldn't kill that hope. He knew that it was in vain, that Geralt had his legendary love for sorceress Yennefer and that him loving anybody else was impossible. Yet he also knew that hope was an irrational thing that would not be stopped by his logical reasoning. And so he kept hoping.

________________

 

Arriving in Toussaint could have been pleasant. It should have been. They were housed in luxury and the duchy looked every bit like the fairytale land people claimed it to be. But for Regis it was plagued by jealousy the second Geralt fell into the arms of Fringilla Vigo.

She had the nerve to be smug about it too, putting her hands on Geralt whenever she could. 

_ She must have noticed _ , Regis thought on more than one occasion.  _ She must know how I want him. _ He never said anything, of course. Most of all because he had no right to.

He let the succubus distract him. But pleasant as she was, Regis' bitter thoughts always returned as soon as he left her.

It was on his stroll back from her lair one night that he stumbled upon voices in the palace gardens. It was nothing unusual, given how lovely the grounds were and how far his hearing reached. What was unusual was to whom the voices belonged.

"Why, what about you?" he heard Milva say.

There came a frustrated sigh that could belong to no one else than Geralt. "No. It's still the same."

Regis tried not to eavesdrop as he kept walking, but it was hard not to focus on the words in the otherwise quiet night.

"Been wondering why. Think he doesn't trust me?" Geralt continued. He sounded disappointed.

"Of course he bloody trusts you."

"Then what's the reason?"

"I don't know. Have you thought of  _ asking  _ him?"

Geralt scoffed. "No."

"Ugh. Men." Milva's eyeroll was practically audible.

He came out of reach for their voices then, though he still wondered what it was they had been talking about. Or more specifically, who. Dandelion, perhaps? He had become rather recluse since rekindling his romance with the duchess. Shaking his head, Regis tried to put the whole ordeal out of his mind.

________________

 

"Got a minute?" Geralt asked him a few days later, causing Regis to look up from the book he was reading. He hadn't expected company, as the only other visitors the small courtyard seemed to get were servants passing by on their way elsewhere, but he was always happy to see Geralt.

"Naturally," Regis said, smiling. "What's on your mind, my friend?"

Geralt sat down next to him on the bench, resting his elbows on his thighs. "Am I?" he asked, not looking at Regis. "Your friend, I mean."

Something stung in Regis' chest at the words. "Of course you are. Have I made you feel differently?"

Geralt shook his head. He was looking down at his hands, his hair hanging down to obscure his face. "No. I just—remember what you told us a while back? About how we would see your true appearance eventually?"

"I remember."

"Asked the others about it. They told me it had happened slowly, but that you definitely looked different now."

"I hope it hasn't been too alarming." 

It had been a while since Regis became close enough with humans for them to see his true self. It was a pleasant thought, however, that it had happened with this odd yet familiar group of people. But not pleasant enough to overshadow the doubts Geralt had brought forth.

"They didn't seem bothered by it," Geralt said. A silence fell after that, and worry began to gnaw at Regis' gut. Finally, Geralt sighed and spoke again. "You still look the same to me though. Guess I've been… Look, if—if it's about me being a witcher, I already told you no price would be high enough."

"I know, and I believe you," Regis told him, reaching out to place a hand on Geralt's arm but stopping himself before coming close enough to touch. Instead, his hand hovered an inch or so above before he pulled it back. Geralt no doubt picked up on it, but he didn't comment. "I trust you, Geralt. With my life, even. I truly don't know why the glamour hasn't worn off, but I swear it has nothing to do with you."

Geralt straightened then, leaning back and finally looking at Regis. A tense little smile played on his lips as his eyes flickered across Regis face. "Okay," he said quietly. "Still, would have been nice to know what you really look like."

"Is it that bad?" Regis joked.

Geralt's eyes widened a fraction before he shook his head and let out a chuckle. "No. No, not at all. Just curious, I guess."

Regis offered a warm smile. "I understand. I would be as well, were our roles reversed." He knew that it was different, of course, that his constant pining couldn't really be compared to Geralt just wanting to know that they were friends. But it was still true.

________________

 

Geralt's admission never really left Regis' thoughts, and he often found himself wondering why the glamour hadn't faded. Logically it should have been the opposite, as Regis had trusted and cared for Geralt quicker than any of the others. Perhaps it was his bitterness, he mused, that had kept the barrier up. Maybe he had somehow been so envious of Fringilla that it had subconsciously affected how Geralt saw him.

He dismissed that theory eventually, because they had not been in Toussaint for very long. Whatever it was must have happened earlier, during their travels, though he couldn't figure out what it might have been.

It wasn't until days later that Regis wondered if perhaps the solution was far simpler than he had originally thought; Perhaps the glamour affected witchers differently, as they weren't entirely human. Since it was the best reason he could come up with, he decided to present it to Geralt. It had seemed to bother him, and Regis wanted to offer whatever help he could. And besides, he very much wanted to find out for himself. His pointless hoping would be even more so if Geralt would never even know what he looked like.

He found Geralt in a secluded area of the palace gardens; a plane of grass surrounded by tall bushes, with a small marble gazebo standing in the middle. The witcher had stripped down to a simple linen shirt and was moving around in a complicated series of steps, swinging his sword against an imaginary opponent. For a few moments, Regis just stood and watched.

Eventually, Geralt spotted him.

"Regis. Hi," he greeted as he stopped his training, only slightly out of breath.

"Hello. I hope I'm not interrupting."

Geralt shrugged and walked over to where he had left his sword belt. "Nah. I was done anyway."

"It's a nice place," Regis commented, looking around the small area. "Peaceful."

"Yeah," Geralt chuckled as he put his sword into its scabbard. "The courtiers or servants rarely come here, or anyone with a contract. Or Fringilla, for that matter."

"What do you see in her?" Regis asked before he could stop himself. He was ready with an apology, but it was too late. Geralt had already grown tense.

"A distraction," he simply said, clenching his jaw. He sighed then, some of the tension dissipating as he leaned his swords against one of the pillars of the gazebo. "Anyway. You wanted something?"

Still ashamed of his previous question, Regis cleared his throat. "I have been thinking about what you told me the other day, about my appearance not having changed for you."

Geralt nodded and crossed his arms. "Come up with anything?"

"I believe so," Regis replied. "I suspect it might be affecting you differently because of your nature as a witcher."

Geralt scoffed and his mouth twitched, but not into a smile. "So it's permanent then?"

"Possibly. A change like that would certainly alert a witcher more than anyone else, and besides, what kind of vampire would ever grow close with a witcher?" Regis speculated, walking closer and coming to stand with his back leaned against one of the marble pillars.

Geralt looked away, hunching his shoulders slightly. He seemed…disappointed?

"That leads me to the second theory," Regis continued. "Because it could also just take a while longer, but due to the uniqueness of our friendship I cannot estimate how long. And the third option would be that the glamour might not have worked on you in the first place."

A slight frown settled on Geralt's face and he leaned back against his own pillar. "And how do you plan on finding out which one it is?"

Regis offered a smile he hoped was reassuring. "By disproving two of them and thus proving the last. The third one would be the easiest to start with. You simply need to describe what you see when you look at me, and I will compare it to what I know."

"I'm not very good at descriptions," Geralt objected, his eyes flicking over to Regis for a brief moment before looking away again.

"Just try," Regis encouraged. "Otherwise we will never find out."

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, before turning his gaze to Regis. There seemed to be something determined about him. "You've got dark hair to about here, with a bit of grey coming in here," he said, gesturing with his hand first by his own jaw, then at his temple.

Regis nodded, feeling that irrational hope try to make itself known inside his chest. "I do."

Geralt's determination seemed to grow and he pushed himself away from the marble pillar and closer to Regis. "Your eyes are black," he continued. When Regis didn't object, he took another step. "You've got some crows' feet. High cheekbones, and your nose has a little bump, right here." He pointed to the bridge of his own nose, despite now being close enough to touch Regis'. His eyes felt intense as they roamed over Regis' face and he barely remembered to nod.

Geralt's eyes flickered lower then. "Thin lips." They were both very silent for a moment, and everything around Regis faded away until all he could see and hear and smell was Geralt standing right in front of him. Eventually Geralt remembered to speak and his eyes came back up to meet Regis'. "I get anything right?"

"Everything, as far as I could tell," Regis replied quietly, not wanting to break whatever was going on between them.

"Huh," Geralt said, a smile spreading on his lips.

It was contagious, and Regis found himself mimicking it. Geralt had seen him, truly seen him, this entire time. It had to mean something.

Suddenly Regis felt something against his temple. It was Geralt's fingers, he realised after a brief moment, gently tucking some hair behind his ear. His breath hitched and he felt that hope flare up inside him, bright and alive. Could it really—?

Then, as sudden as it has started, Geralt yanked his hand back as if he had been burned. He stared at it for a moment, shocked and worried, before meeting Regis' eyes again. "I'm sorry," he said before turning around to grab his swords and then hurrying away.

Regis stayed where he was, struggling to process anything while he could still feel the ghost of Geralt's touch. Finally, he snapped out of it and rushed after Geralt, turning into mist as he moved.

He caught up with the witcher soon enough, still surrounded by the tall bushes and still without another soul in sight. It was fortunate, though in the back of his head Regis suspected he wouldn't have cared even if there was someone around.

"Geralt, wait," he said, grasping his wrist as he turned back into his human shape.

"Don't," Geralt protested as he let himself be turned around. "Just forget it happened."

Regis frowned. "Why?"

Geralt scoffed and clenched his jaw, looking off to the side. "You know why. Enough people think I'm a freak. I don't want that from you too, I can't."

"I would never think that of you. Never. And definitely not because of something like this," Regis promised. He loosened his grip on Geralt's wrist, but didn't let go entirely.

Geralt exhaled, his shoulders sagging. He still wouldn't meet Regis' eyes. "Appreciate that," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Still, probably best if you try to forget it."

The rational part of Regis knew he was right. It had been a rare impulse on Geralt's part, that was all. It wouldn't happen again, but Regis would torture himself with what-ifs regardless. The irrational part of him, however, was stubborn and still alight with that stupid hope. And it was also the part that made him speak. "What if I don't wish to?"

"What?" Geralt asked, his gaze darting up to meet Regis'. He looked disbelieving and—scared.

Regis took a breath. "What if I don't wish to forget? What if I wish it would happen again?"

Geralt said nothing. Just looked at him with those beautiful cat eyes of his, pupils wide despite the sunlight.

As the silence dragged on, Regis' fear of having interpreted everything wrong grew. Finally, he swallowed and looked away. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have—"

He stopped talking the moment he felt Geralt's fingers brush the side of his face. "Like this?"

Regis moved slowly, afraid that any wrong move would ruin everything. But he leaned into the touch and raised a hand of his own to cover Geralt's, holding it in place. He smiled; soft, genuine and vulnerable. "If you'll have me."

"If I—?  _ Regis _ ." Evidently encouraged, Geralt cupped Regis' face properly. For once, he looked relieved. And he was smiling. "If anything, I thought  _ you _ wouldn't want  _ me _ ."

Regis found it hard to wrap his mind around the words. Geralt had thought Regis wouldn't want him? It just seemed so…bizarre. 

"Why on earth wouldn't I?" Regis had to ask, as he raised his free hand to Geralt's face. To think that he was finally allowed to touch. (And perhaps he had been for a long time, but there was no use in dwelling on that.)

Geralt leaned into Regis' hand but scoffed. "Because I'm a witcher? Because I'm a mess? Because I keep pushing people away?"

"You're not pushing me away right now," Regis objected. When Geralt said nothing, he continued. "And I think you are wonderful."

He wasn't sure who moved first, but one second they were simply standing there and the next they were leaned in close. His gaze fell to Geralt's lips and then he couldn't hold back any longer.

Regis kissed him, light and gentle, careful not to take any more than what he was given. When he pulled back, Geralt chased after him, his unsteady breath brushing against Regis' lips, then pressed their foreheads together.

"This is really happening?" Geralt asked. Regis' eyes were closed, but he could hear the smile in his voice.

"I believe it is," he replied with a smile of his own.

________________

 

Fringilla joined them for breakfast the next morning. Regis didn't care much for her reasons, especially not since he knew she had not spent the night in Geralt's company. She still acted as if she had, but it was easier to watch when the façade was cracked.

"I was wondering," she asked, too sweetly, putting her hand on Geralt's forearm, "if you would join me in the library today?"

"Not today," he told her, reaching for an egg and dislodging her hand in the process.

Fringilla's voice soured. "Yet another contract? What manner of beast commands your attention this time?"

Geralt shrugged. "A vampire."

Regis barely succeeded in hiding his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it <3
> 
> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated; it always makes me super happy and it really encourages me to write more! And I don't seem to be leaving Geralt/Regis land anytime soon so...


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